


(isn't it lovely?) all alone

by wonderviolet



Series: ugly moon you look good from front (lovely satellite reflecting the sun) [1]
Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Anxiety Attacks, Bill Denbrough & Richie Tozier Are Best Friends, Bisexual Richie Tozier, Depression, Depressive Spiral, Everyone else is Straight (kinda), Fluff, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Gay Stanley Uris, M/M, Make-outs, Matchmaker Beverly Marsh, Mention of Past Abuse, Oblivious Eddie Kaspbrak, Original Character(s), Pansexual Bill Denbrough, Pastel Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier is a Little Shit, Self-Destructive Thoughts/Actions, Social Anxiety, Suicidal Thoughts, Touch-Starved, it'll get better I promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-10-22 11:55:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17662142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonderviolet/pseuds/wonderviolet
Summary: In which Richie Tozier usually isn't able to really hear his thoughts (they are always racing) but tonight is the one night he wished he didn't.





	(isn't it lovely?) all alone

**Author's Note:**

> Hello reader, before you start reading, I just wanted to clarify a few things.   
> One, that this is a modern day au and two, Richie has a little sister in this series as well. I imagine her resembling Malina Weissman in a way, but you can choose want you want her to look like. Lastly, the title of this work is from Lovely by Billie Ellish; it's an amazing song that'll hit you right in the feels!

____

  

It’s 1 am and Richie Tozier knows that what he’s doing isn’t healthy. 

It’s 1 am and his thoughts are like a hurricane in his mind, wiping out anything in it’s path with it’s self-destructive nature. 

It’s 1 am and in his mind, he’s turning dark as the night sky, feeding into thoughts that no man, women or child should even think about; but it’s oh so familiar to him and he couldn’t tell if they were bad anymore. 

The place he should be in is messy and empty, the blue plaid covers twisted and turned across the bed and only the creases were a reminder of his attempted to sleep tonight which failed, obviously. 

He was standing in front of his window half opened and his seventh dimly lighted cigarette rested in between his point finger and middle finger, trying to imagine the smoke coming from the cancer stick fogging up his mind.

He’s not getting better. 

Sighing, he lifts up the cancer stick to his chapped lips and sucks all the chemicals in. 

It’s been three weeks and four days since his tongue has touched any of his medications and he doesn’t know if he should be proud that he’s last this long or guilt, because now, he doesn’t want to-no, he refuses to take them. They sit in the bathroom cabinet on the second shelf, located on the right hand side and each of their names out there for the world to see and it taunts him every time he goes in there. 

He can’t tell anymore if he’s scared of because of how much he depends on those four bottles sitting in his bathroom or because he forgot how good it feels, being numb like this. 

When he’s on his medicine, he’s happy; but he hates it with every fiber of his being. It feels forced and unnatural and foreign and it’s weird because nobody that happy all the time. 

He’s stumbling and taking slow cautious steps because he’s just waiting for, in a flash, the somewhat happiness to disappear and he’ll start falling. He’s nearly forgotten every other feeling since he’s been put on the medications because all he feels is happy, but the worst part is that’s it’s not even real. 

It’s 1am and he’s sucking down cigarettes like he’s goddamn fucking immortal and staying up later and later to the point where this will mark his fifth night without sleep and somehow, despite the voices all screaming in his head, he feels safe. 

Even though the thoughts in his head aren’t so safe. 

A messy collection of thoughts ran around his mind in circles, going a hundred miles a minute and never could tell what exactly he was thinking and it makes him dizzy. The cigarette heavy with a burden in his hand, the only thing reminding him that he was still on a blue planet called Earth, home to over eight million people and not a single one could make him delay what was going to happen tonight. 

It’s been a while since he’s heard them and he nearly chuckled when he heard the first one. 

Hello suicidal thoughts, long time no see. 

He slowly exhaled the smoke burning in his lungs, watching the cloud of smoke disappear into the dark night sky, with no stars in sight. 

The cool wind bit his skin as he was wearing just a simple white t-shirt and black sweatpants, goosebumps decorating his arms but he didn’t feel cold. 

In fact, he didn’t feel anything...at all. 

Now that sent shivers throughout his body. 

He tapped the cigarette against the old soda can, watching the tiny ashes fall into the hole and breathed it in with a question buried underneath his racing thoughts. 

Where the hell did everything go wrong? 

He knew that was he was doing the first day he did it, but he was feeling better, finally at least content with himself. 

The first day Richie Tozier didn’t take his medications was where everything went fucking off the cliff and then he didn’t the next day and the next day and the day after that. He was good for the two weeks and a half...then he started feeling weird. 

He became more restless and couldn’t listen to a song for more than a five seconds without changing it. Time was slowing down and speeding up at random and some days he would wake up thinking that it’s summertime when it’s 5 pm on a school night. 

The second thing that went off the cliff was his sleep. 

He’s always had two settings when he goes to bed; crashing and burning or staying up till the morning; there was no in between. 

He’s always had trouble sleeping because his mind is always going a mile a minute because he’s not lying one little bit when he says he puts the hyper in hyperactivity in fucking Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder. 

Sometimes he can settle himself down long enough to fall asleep, usually by listening to slow music and syncing his breathing with the beats until he drifts away into dreamland. Other times, he doesn’t have the patience to make himself calm down as it feels like he had a pack of Red Bull, drank five cups of coffee and ran a marathon so he just stays awake on those nights. 

When he abandoned his medications, including melatonin, he slowly started pushing his sleep schedule later and later, thinking nothing of it. Now he’s hit a point where nothing can make his mind stop racing and he isn’t sleeping, period and that affected everything else.

His appetite, his sanity, his body, everything felt gone. 

YOU DON’T DESERVE THAT 

YOU DON'T DESERVE TO HAVE ANY OF THOSE THINGS YOU DON'T DESERVE TO HAVE ANY OF THOSE THINGS YOU DON"T DESERVE THIS LIFE YOU DON’T DESERVE THIS LIFE YOU WORTHLESS PIECE OF SH-

No. 

A singular word, two letters, barely took up any space in a sentence and you would think that it doesn’t really hold that much power, but despite that, it’s actually one of the most important words in the world. It’s a word that is small, but mighty...like Eds.

He chuckled lightly at the comparison. 

Breathe in; breathe out. 

Breathe in; breathe out. 

He repeated the phrase in his head, making his voice louder with every word he thought. 

Breathe in; breathe out. 

Breathe in; breathe out. 

When the thoughts began to overwhelm him, he repeated the phrase and took in long drags of a cigarette to help calm him down. 

Breathe in; breathe out. 

Breathe in; breathe out. 

Breath in; bre-

“Richie?” A voice groggily calls out from behind him and he turns around to see his younger sister, Violet, in lavender colored pajamas and rubbing her eyes, clearly had just awoken from a deep slumber. 

He quickly places the cigarette down on the window pane and walks over to her, slightly panicking that she found him awake, but he didn’t let it show.

“Hey Vi,” he greets in a low voice, placing a hand on her shoulder blades. 

Violet Tozier was about two years younger than him and was the same age as Georgie Denbrough. People are a little shocked at first that she was his sister, but if you see them together in a room, you’ll definitely see the resemblance in each other. 

She had the same pitch black hair and ghostly pale complexion with the lips that are always slightly cracked and chapped, no matter how much carmex they put on them, but unlike him, she had dark blue eyes that reminded him of the ocean when your underwater. 

“Why are you up so late?” He asks, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

“Stop smoking those fucking cancers sticks or I’ll stick one up your ass.” She mumbled threateningly but her half-asleep state didn’t make it sound so threatening. 

He chuckled softly and shook his head. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.” He nudged her to the door and she didn’t even try to protest him, instead laying her head on his shoulder and letting him lead her to her room. 

“I’m serious Rich, I could smell them from my room.” She added, a little worry laced in her voice and her heavy blue eyes studied him. “What’s wrong?” 

He shook his head and opened the door to her room. “Nothing’s wrong.” 

His dark eyes swept over the room, the bed on the right side filled with pillows and stuffed animals and on the left is where the dresser containing nearly-empty perfume bottles and hair ties and the desk holding papers and notebooks and her stupid glitter pens. 

Violet wobbled over to her bed and sat down. “Are you having nightmares again?” 

“That’s none of your business.” He snapped back quickly, his voice no longer soft and gentle but harsh and sharp. He immediately bit down on his tongue, another habit he hasn’t done in a while and looked down at his socks. 

“Sorry.” 

“S’ fine,” She shrugged off and then said, “If it makes ya feel better, I had one too.” 

Richie perked up and furrowed his eyebrows in confusion and shock. “You did?” 

Why did she have nightmares? 

Maybe it was something random. 

He didn’t need to ask about it because Violet was already explaining, and it definitely wasn’t something random. 

“We were in the house,” She started and he couldn’t help but pick up a small tremble in her voice. “I woke up from a sound downstairs; something high pitched and I wanted to check it out because it was pretty loud and so, I got up and I went downstairs.” 

His little sister paused before continuing. “You were screaming, Richie. You were begging, begging Mom to stop because she was taking out her cigarettes in your arms.”  
She slowly pulled the brown comforter colored with purple, pink and orange swirls to her and began to fidget with it. “But this time, she was dragging it against your skin all around your arm...like-like in a circle.

His breath hitched in his throat as he stared at her with eyes widened to the size of saucers. 

Vi is having nightmares about...about me? 

Why? 

“And I couldn’t move. I couldn’t fight back, but you never once asked for my help. You plead and cried for her to stop but not once did you yell my name.” She laughed at the end, throwing Richie by surprised but quickly realized there wasn’t a ounce of humor in it. 

The pale moonlight shining over her eyes that were glittering with tears. “Fucking hell Richie, I can’t the rid of the smell, it’s...it’s everywhere.” 

The bed creaked as he stood up, a pair of faded black socks found there way to Violet’s dresser and grabbing a random perfume bottle. He sprayed it all around the room, the only sounds were the groans of the wood underneath his feet and the hissing sound of the spray and the soft sniffles from his little sister. 

Those same socks found their way right back next to Violet’s bare feet and a lump collected in Richie’s throat. He hesitantly placed a hand on top of her shoulder blades and rubbed in a circular motion as she wiped the tears leaking out of her dark blue eyes. 

“There, it’s gone now,” assured Richie, trying to help Violet the best he could. “It doesn’t smell like smoke anymore, it smells like some flowery shit.” 

“Yeah.” She gave half-smiled at him before looking back in her lap. “I just...I just wish I could spray away the memories.” 

He sighed. “She hasn’t done that in a few years, Vi.” The lanky boy whispered softly, his voice sounding so vulnerable that he almost didn’t recognize it. “You know that Mom quit drinking and they’re cutting back on the smokes.” 

She sniffled and nodded. “I-I-I know. I guess the smell just triggered that memory.”  
He sighed, knowing all too well the feeling of paranoia and anxiousness around someone who’s hurt you. That feeling can grow and get under your skin and give it enough time, eventually you’ll be absolutely overridden by it unless you talk about it. 

He definitely got it much worse than his little sister because his parents were the ones who tossed him around most of the time, but that didn’t mean that she didn’t get hit once in a while. No matter how much he wanted to protect her from his parents, he couldn’t be around her all the time but he always made it up to her, even if she didn’t realize it. 

Sometimes he would teach her a trick at one of his favorite arcade games or get her ice cream when she came home; basically anything to get rid of the guilt that would’ve eaten him alive a long time ago. 

“Look,” he started and then sighed. “If it makes you feel better...” He pushed up the small sleeves, his arms completely visible and held them out for her to see. 

Her dark blue eyes studied them discreetly, as if she was ashamed of doing it but Richie didn’t have a problem with it. He wanted her to feel safe, even if he didn’t feel it. 

The small circular scars were still there, but they were old and fading, just like the fear of night he had when he was young because that meant the worst was yet to come and he couldn’t do anything to stop it. 

He cocked his head to the right, a silly but assuring grin on his face. “See? Me and my arms are safe.” He said and wiggled his arms goofily. 

Violet giggled softly and swung her feet into the bed. “Yeah, they are.” 

Richie pushed down the sleeves and stretched. “Well, I’ll leave you to sleep, you fucking need it.” He stood up and walked over to the small lamp that was on her desk. 

“Thanks Rich.” She said, pulling the comforter closer with one hand and her stuffed zebra in another. 

He grinned at her. “Yeah well, don’t be such a sap Tozier 2.0,” He commented and turned the light off with the tug of the string, the signature Tozier grin on his face and he didn’t need to have the light on to see Violet flipping in off as he walked out of the room. 

He made sure to leave the half-way open, just the way she liked it and trudged back to his room. He almost didn’t want to go back to his room, as his mind would’ve continued to where it started off and wouldn’t stop, but he didn’t have a choice. It was his safe haven and his personal hell all in one. 

When he walked in, he noticed how bland his room smelled compared to his sister’s that smelled lightly of perfumes and lemons, and how dull and dark it looked too. Her room was filled with pastel flowers designs and walls painted a light purple while his was filled with band posters and walls a dark blue. 

Hers was a good type of messy and his was a awful type of messy. 

Maybe I should clean it up some day, He thought. Maybe it’ll look better with a little color too. 

Some day. 

He shook off the thought and leaned against the doorway of the room ahead of him and his dark eyes trailed to the partially open window. The cigarette the lanky boy left thankfully hadn’t rolled off the window pane onto the floor and was still lit dimly, a small stream of smoke rising up from tip. 

Richie sighed deeply and left the door cracked open as a pair of faded black socks walked over to the window pane and brought the cigarette to his lips, taking a breath. 

Then he heard screaming. 

It was faint, but it was there and he didn’t bother to turn around because he already knew who it was. It was him. 

He was the one that was screaming, but it wasn’t him right here, right now. It was his 11 year old self begging to his mom as the very cancer stick he held, his mother placed on his lanky arms. 

He breathed out the smoke and squeezed his eyes shut, silently pleading for his mind to stop torturing him with things that happened years ago but will haunt him for many more to come. 

“NO NO MOM PLEASE STOP PLEASE IT’S ME YOUR SON! NO MOM PLEASE MOM!” 

He sucked in a final breath from the cigarette before putting it out and shoving the butt into the old used soda can. The voice screaming the memory in his head abruptly cutted off the second the flame was put out. 

What a fucking waste.

He grunted and pushed the old soda can next to the window. He shouldn’t have been smoking anyway; he didn’t want Violet having another nightmare about him and wake up because of the smell. 

She had a presentation she had to go through with the class and she was already jittery about it. Her having another nightmare will definitely put her on edge and two paranoid, jittery and anxious kids worrying about if there parents are truly getting better can cause a shit ton of problems and major trust issues. 

If Richie Tozier thinks that if he stares hard enough at the glowing moon that looked almost out of place amongst all the dark blue that he’ll forget everything, he knows so fucking well he won’t. 

Instead everything comes back to him as he walks down the path he’s done many nights ago, the screams become louder and so much clearer and the scent of liquor and burnt flesh hits his nose. 

And suddenly he’s no longer at home anymore, but he’s not even sure if he was in the first place because it doesn’t feel like it, it hasn’t as long as he could remember. His mind is as high as the moon and doesn’t look like it’s coming down anytime soon. His coffee-colored eyes couldn’t tear away from the moon no matter how hard he tried and he’s not sure if he even wants to. 

And he lets everything consume him. The dam of his past come crashing down on him and he didn’t mind because he couldn’t have avoided it any longer. It’s such a familiar road, he’s comforted by it almost; like you’re meeting up with a group of friends you haven’t seen in a long time. 

Just like that, he’s lost in the real world but in his mind, Richie tossed out the map because he knows these halls better than the ones in his home; and should that scare him? He doesn’t know. 

It’s 2 am and Richie Tozier’s mind continues to wander, and pulling every tie undone along the way. 

____

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked it, comment and give kudos <3 Thanks so much for reading!


End file.
